Used To It
by Choice
Summary: For once, Puck isn't the bad guy.  Surprised?


**Used To It**

* * *

Looking back, Puck really should've reconsidered driving all the way to Kurt's house around eleven at night and try to beat the door down with some seriously obnoxious. But could you blame him for being so desperate? Ever since the weekend, Kurt had been a fucking hard dude to pin down. Usually when Puck took his potential dates to Breadsticks, he expected a little somethin'-somethin' (if you catch his drift).

What he _didn't_ expect was for the fucking douche to hightail it outta his truck the moment they rolled up to Kurt's house. Puck fucking bought Kurt dinner, made relatively PG(-13) conversation, and was generally pretty fucking chivalrous, if you asked him. Kurt jumped out of the car seconds before the Puckinator even rolled to a complete stop. Like, _wow._ Not even a goodbye make-out for the road?

And people called _Puck_ the insensitive bastard you wanted nothing to do with. (It was always the pretty ones with ten-foot poles up their asses, wasn't it?)

So really, did you think he was so in the wrong for demanding to know just what the hell was running through Kurt's mind that made it seem perfectly okay to be such a cockblocking bitch?

He probably should've thought better about knocking like the neighbors' house was on fire, especially since Mr. Hummel was still sorta weak after that heart attack scare a couple months ago. Er. Oops?

"What in the hell-whattaya want?" Burt said in a gruff, no-nonsense voice. He was glaring daggers at Puck and-geez, if the dude managed to look terrifying in a flannel bathrobe, Puck would hate to catch him with a blowtorch.

Puck was glad he managed to keep the nerves out of his voice. People like Mr. Hummel? They could_smell_ fear, just like sex sharks like Puck could make sex happen, anytime, anywhere. Puck was sure of it. "I need to speak to Kurt… sir."

"And what business do you have with my son at…" he looked down at his wristwatch that looked way too fancy-designer for a guy like him. "Ten forty-five?"

His voice was laced with steel, and even recovering from a heart attack, Burt was making Puck feel kinda threatened-intimidated, whatever. Offense prickled to life when he realized how Burt looked at him, like he was a monster like Karofsky or something. "Hey, I'm not here to-"

"Puck?"

They both turned to look at Kurt, whose soft voice had almost been lost in Puck's loud defense. Burt visibly softened at the sight of his son, who was dressed in some freaky matching pajama set. "Hey, you know this kid?" he asked as Kurt approached them.

"Yeah, I…" Kurt stared at Puck with wide eyes, wringing his hands a bit. "Dad, could you give me a minute with Puck?" at Burt's frown, he elaborated: "_Alone._ Please?"

"You sure, Kurt?" Puck grit his teeth and kept himself in check; it wouldn't do him any good to try and sock Kurt's dad in the teeth just for being the awesome, if paranoid dad he was. After all, Puck _did_have himself a pretty shitty rep that went on for miles.

Kurt nodded and Puck watched Kurt watch his dad walk off. He sighed and turned back to Puck, stepping forward and closing the front door behind them. He nodded to the porch, so Puck shrugged and copped a squat on the bottom step. Kurt looked painfully awkward as he sat down, all the way on the top stair. "Um, so…"

Puck always had to be the one to cut the crap so he asked, "You mind telling me what the hell made you drop me like last year's McQueen?"

Kurt struggled for a response. Puck didn't realize he'd been glaring out at the street until a jogger passing by gave him a creeped-out look and jogged faster. Puck absently admired the woman's rack, but her hair and the track suit she was wearing reminded Puck too much of Coach Sylvester. He shuddered and got an anti-boner in less time than it took for Finn to bust a nut. (Don't ask him how he knew _that_ one, man. Some things're better off left unsaid.)

"I just…" Puck snapped out of his thoughts. Right, Kurt. He leaned back to look at the other boy, who was busily staring at his hands so he wouldn't have to meet Puck's eyes. Puck scoffed. _Coward._ Kurt glared up at him, jaw set. "I was afraid, alright? I didn't know what the hell I was doing, going out with you and-uh, that didn't sound so bad in my mind."

Puck turned back around so Kurt couldn't see the effect he was having on Puck. He focused his weary, hurt frown at the streetlight. "…Right. So, wanna tell me why you said yes in the first place, if you knew better than to go out with _me?_"

"Puck, I really didn't mean it like that." Kurt insisted, hands anxiously flailing around in the air. Puck inwardly shrugged it off. At least he looked honestly sorry for being a jackass.

Puck huffed a sigh. "Don't worry about it." _I'm used to being hurt,_ he thought. _What's another kick in the teeth?_

Kurt looked anything but reassured. In fact, he looked pretty damn miserable. And pathetic, but mostly miserable. "I really am sorry." he murmured, looking down at his hands again.

Puck abruptly stood, not missing Kurt's tiny gasp. "Puck, I-"

"If you're really sorry…" Puck said as he turned to face Kurt, a half-smile tugging at his lips as he realized how damn cute Kurt was. "You'd scoot your prissy ass on over and make up for your lousy date-ness by making out with me."


End file.
